


The Ties That Bind

by Pixie (Ayiana)



Category: JAG
Genre: Angst, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayiana/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2006 Christmas ficathon, for Deemus, who said, "I'd like to see a story with Harm and Mac, a cozy fire, some doughnuts and hot spiced cider, and serious discussion about families. Some gifts might also be exchanged...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties That Bind

Firelight shimmered in her eyes when she told him.

It was three days before Christmas, and she'd been quiet all evening, participating in the gift-wrapping with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He knew she'd seen the doctor earlier that afternoon, and that her mood meant bad news, but when she got like this, all stiff and silent, it was better to give her space until she was ready to talk.

The hours had piled up, one on top of the other, each one stretching his nerves a little tighter, wearing his patience a little thinner until finally he couldn't take it anymore.

She'd been struggling with a piece of ribbon, and when she uttered a colorful curse and dropped it, fluttering, to the floor, he took her hand in his.

"Talk to me."

Her eyes flitted to his and then away as she reached for another piece of ribbon with her free hand.

"Mac."

Pulling away, she moved to stand in front of the fireplace, arms folded defensively across her chest. He followed, catching her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. Worry wrapped itself around his heart.

"Please, Mac. Whatever it is, we'll work through it. But you have to talk to me."

When she met his eyes, her own glistened with unshed tears. "I got a phone call from Wyoming today."

He blinked, nonplussed. Wyoming? Who did they know in Wyoming?

"My mother was in a car accident." The words came haltingly, and she turned away, staring into the fire as she continued. "The roads were wet. There was..." In the fireplace, a log shifted, sending up a shower of sparks. "A trucker...lost control." She paused, took a deep breath. "She died on the way to the hospital."

"Oh, God." He pulled her into the protective circle of his arms, holding her close. "Mac, I'm so sorry."

After a moment, she pulled away from him and turned back to the fire, shoulders stiff. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to feel," she said. "And it's making me crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"I spent years blaming my father for her leaving," she said. "But I made excuses for her. He drove her away, I told myself. The drinking and the yelling and the hitting.... She left because she couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't until he died that I realized it wasn't true." She paused, and he waited for her to go on, knowing she'd talk when she was ready. Eventually, she did. "But she didn't leave because she couldn't take it anymore. She left because she was too much of a coward to stand up to him."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

"Is it? She could've kicked him out, called the cops, contacted a hotline.... But she didn't do any of those things. Instead she walked out on us. On me." She was angry now, but not at him.

"She loved you, Mac."

"I'm not sure she did," she said bitterly. "Or maybe she just loved herself more."

"I thought you said you forgave her."

"Yeah..." Mac sat down, pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning back against the couch. "In my mind, I did." She looked up at him. "Apparently my heart felt otherwise."

He sat down next to her, his shoulder touching hers. "So...you can't let go."

"God, Harm. I don't know! I'm supposed to be heartbroken, aren't I? Devastated? But I'm not! I just feel like the black hole of my past is trying to suck me back in!"

"Your past is what made you who you are, Mac. You can't run from it."

"But I want to run. I want to run so far and so fast that it never catches up to me."

"Why?"

She looked at him, amazed. "You honestly don't know, do you?" Then, shaking her head, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, really. Your childhood was like something out of a storybook."

He snorted. "Hardly. And diversionary tactics aren't going to work. We aren't talking about me."

On the stereo, Bing Crosby was singing about roasted chestnuts and yuletide carols, while by his side, silent tears were streaming down Mac's face. "I'm afraid, Harm." Her low voice drifted through the room. He put his arm around her, pulling her close, and she dropped her head to his shoulder.

"Of what?"

"They say that children grow up to be like their parents - that the cycle of abuse never stops. What right do I have to bring a child into the world knowing that?"

"Mac, you aren't your parents."

She lifted her head to look at him. "I'm an alcoholic, just like my father was. I have a temper like his. Hell, I shot my own husband! How do you know I won't abandon my child the same way my mother did me?"

"Because you don't abandon people. You don't turn your back on those who need you, who count on you." He turned to her, cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her to look at him. He wiped her tears away with his thumb. "You were a godsend for Chloe. You gave that little girl's life meaning. And what about Mattie?"

"Chloe and Mattie were different. They were nearly grown when I got involved in their lives. A baby...it'd be different."

Harm shook his head. "Not in the way you mean."

She pulled away from him. "How do you know that, Harm? You aren't me! You don't know what I'd do any more than I do!"

"No," he dropped his hand, resting it on her stomach just above the waistband of her jeans. "I don't. But I've known you for long enough to know what kind of person you are, and--" he waited until she met his eyes. "I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have as the mother of my children."

He heard her breath catch in her throat. "You deserve a family, Harm. I may never even get pregnant, and if I do, I could turn out to be a real bitch of a mother." Her voice dropped, and he had to lean close to catch her next words. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"That's what's really bothering you, isn't it." He knew he was right. The answer was there in her eyes when she looked at him. "You're worrying that it won't happen, that we won't get our miracle."

"Maybe I'm worried that we will."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Without answering her, he stood to put another log on the fire. Then, crouching, he poked at the flames while he thought about what she'd said. She wanted a baby. And she'd be an amazing mother. He knew these things for facts the same way he knew the sun would rise in the morning. No, he didn't know every detail about her past, because she didn't like to talk about it. But he'd gotten a sense of its grimness from hints she'd dropped and comments she'd made through the years. Yet she'd always seemed so strong and sure of the person she'd become. What, then had sparked this sudden self-doubt?

"What else did they say when they called?" He asked, chasing the ghost of a suspicion.

"Who?"

"The person who called to tell you about your mother." She didn't answer, and he turned to look at her. "Mac?"

"She was running."

Understanding began to dawn. "From?"

"A man."

"They told you that?"

She shook her head. "No. They asked what I wanted them to do with her personal things, and when I said they could donate them to charity they asked if I was sure. They said it looked like everything she owned was in the car with her."

"Maybe she was just moving."

Another shake of the head. "I don't think so, Harm. She'd written me a few months back to say she'd moved in with some guy out in Portland. She was all excited, said she thought she'd finally found 'the real thing'."

"Mac, you're jumping to conclusions. There could be a thousand different reasons for this scenario."

"There was a little boy."

That startled him. "In the car with her?"

She nodded.

"Was he..."

"Just a broken leg."

"Who is he?"

"Apparently, he's the son of the man she'd been living with." Mac took a pillow off the couch and propped it behind her back.

"Which way were they driving?"

"East."

So...Deanne had packed her stuff, grabbed the boy, and run. From what, he wondered. "Social services involved?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know."

"Do you think she was trying to protect him?"

Mac snorted. "Not exactly her typical M.O."

"Maybe she was trying to make amends."

"To whom?"

He looked at her steadily. "To you."

With a sigh, she lowered her chin to her knees and stared into the fire. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it?"

"Maybe she didn't think so."

She cocked a doubtful eye in his direction. "That's a lot of maybes Harm."

He grinned. "Maybe."

She graced him with the ghost of a smile, and some of the tension left her shoulders.

"I could use some cider," he said, sensing she could use a few minutes alone. Want some?"

"Hot?"

"If you like."

"Sounds good."

Squeezing her shoulder, he got to his feet. "Be right back."

He took his time in the kitchen, warming the cider and adding a plate of bite-sized powdered donuts and some napkins. Before he took the tray in, he ducked into the bedroom to get something out of the closet. Christmas was still a couple of days away, but he figured giving her one gift a little early wasn't going to hurt. In fact, it might be just what was needed tonight.

When he returned to the living room, Mac had moved to the couch. Her feet, clad in a pair of whimsical red and green knitted socks, were stretched out along the cushions. She moved them aside and gave him a weak smile as he set the tray on the coffee table.

"Sweet tooth acting up again?"

"Well, you know... powdered sugar, snow....It's all good." He handed her the package he'd gotten from the closet. "This is for you."

"But Christmas isn't until Monday."

He shrugged. "Open it anyway."

She gave him a questioning look, but did as he asked; carefully pulling apart the pretty paper to reveal what was inside. When the paper fell away Mac stared at the cheerful cover of the thick paperback for a moment. Then she gave Harm a perplexed look.

"Harm, I'm not expecting."

"Yet."

"Maybe never."

He shrugged. "So maybe we won't have our baby the old fashioned way. Maybe we'll adopt. Hell, maybe we'll just get a puppy." He took the book away and set it aside, then reached for her hands. "I don't care, Mac. The only thing I care about is you and me and the family we create for ourselves. Anything else is just icing."

"You aren't bothered by my checkered past?"

"The only reason it bothers me is because it bothers you." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "You're going to be a fantastic mother, Mac, and I hope God blesses us with a child. But if he doesn't, that's okay, too. I just want us to be a family - be it a family of two or a family of twelve."

"Twelve?" Her snort of laughter made him smile. "You're insane, do you know that?"

"Isn't that why you love me?"

In response, she leaned over and kissed him, her lips moving tenderly across his. When she pulled back, she was smiling. "Yeah," she said, "I guess it is."

He pulled her into his arms, shifting them both until he was lying back against the cushions with her soft warmth resting against him.

"So," he said, "what did the doctor say today?"

Her smile was mischievous. "Not to give up."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I like the sound of that." He nuzzled the hollow at the base of her neck, pleased when she shifted against him.

"Harm..."

He felt her fingers tangle in his hair. "Hmm?"

"Kiss me."

And so he did.


End file.
